


Downtime

by missmollyetc



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling is easier with other people</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downtime

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [numb3rs](http://missmollyetc.livejournal.com/tag/numb3rs)  
---|---  
  
_ **FIC: Downtime (1/1)** _

Title: Downtime

Pairing(s): Don/Charlie

Rating: NC-17

Warning(s): Incest

Summary: Falling is easier with other people

Disclaimer: I have nothing (apparently, not even my sanity). Numb3rs is the product of CBS and the Scott Brothers, and I make nothing from this while they rake in the millions. Which is how I like it. In other words? I. Made. It. Up.

 

 

 

Long case. Long, hard, awful case with no good guys to be found--just victims and perpetrators--and at the end of it all Don isn't thinking as clearly as he's used to. In fact, Don doesn't _want_ to think clearly, wants to save all that _clarity_ for harsh, fluorescent-lit interrogation rooms and cold mortuary meat lockers.

Now it's dim light and close heat and pain he _needs_ while stumbling down his own hallway wrapped around Charlie. He tilts his head for a better angle, mouth pressed to chapped lips, and pushes forward until those lips part to take him inside. His hands curve into the dip of Charlie's spine, urging fabric out of the way of soft skin. Charlie murmurs into his mouth, indistinct sounds that Don swallows away. He doesn't want to _breathe_, much less talk.

He wants fast and dirty, right against the wall if he can _just_ maneuver them both a little more to the left, but Charlie won't allow it. He bends and flows, almost slips right from Don's grasp, and Don's cold, blisteringly clear as they move into the living room. He follows Charlie because he can't _not_, but he's beginning to _think_, and…Charlie's coaxing mouth nurses at Don's whimper and dry hands pat their way across his body, pushing underneath his waistline. He kisses Charlie across the living room, nipping at swollen lips now slick and hot, unbuckling Charlie's pants as they walk backward to the bedroom. No thought but the suddenly overpowering urge to be naked _now_.

Don rides their fall onto the bed, coming up on all fours over Charlie's undulating body. He skims Charlie's t-shirt up over the full body shiver, pale skin bucking at his touch as Charlie unclasps his shirt buttons, cracking open Agent Eppes and finding Don beneath the black cotton. Charlie has square hands with elegant fingers, and each digit knows exactly where to touch. Don shudders, hands clenched in the t-shirt, digging through to the bed sheets. Blunt nails dig into the spaces between his ribs and Don's head drops to Charlie's collarbone, mouth suckling at the--at _his_ piece of skin.

Charlie moans, a decadent rush of air ruffling Don's hair, and he thrusts _down_ as Charlie thrusts up and that's so very, very good he wants to scream, but there's no _skin_\--nothing to hold onto but cotton and denim and the promise of sweat slick skin rising to meet his. He struggles upwards--the top of his head missing Charlie's chin by inches--and pants, mouth open, wanting to form words that aren't '_more_','_ yes_', or '_fuck_,' but no other words _exist_, and Charlie's mouth is open, tongue flickering over his bottom lip and he needs--something, there was something, and Charlie must know what it is if Don's already forgotten, so Don thrusts again, trapped.

Suddenly the angle's wrong, a knee where a thigh had been and long toes poking up his side. Don freezes, watches Charlie inch up the mattress, leaving his clothes in a trail up the bed. He sits up, leans over and cups the back of Don's head, drawing him up until Don lies clothed against Charlie's naked body.

All at once he feels bigger than before, stuck in a body grown too large for his skin, while beneath him Charlie is soft from years spent indoors, liable to be scored by his edges, and crushed under his weight. Don struggles to get back up, even though his cock is damn well _demanding_ he dive into the body underneath him, and a strong calf hooks around his knee.

Charlie's kiss presses into his mouth, traveling from the middle of Don's lips to the edge and down the line of his jaw to his earlobe. Don trembles--hates that he does, but his muscles are straining to break and his cock wants _out_ and _inside_, so there's no other word--no other _motion_ for it, and Charlie's teeth tease his earlobe, taking careful hold and tugging.

Don's right elbow hits the mattress just as Charlie's teeth let him go. His brother arches up, following his body as it tilts. He kisses behind Don's ear, sucking hard, and Don jerks, one hand coming up to clasp Charlie's flexing shoulder.

He holds him there, keeps them both on their sides until Charlie kneels up, hands opening Don's jeans. He pulls them up and off Don's hips, kissing the trail of hair down Don's chest between the panels of fabric, briefly chewing the spot above his navel. He gets the pants down below Don's knees and waits for Don to kick his feet free before grasping both ankles and sliding up, crouching in the vee of Don's legs.

His hands stop at the top of Don's thighs, framing his hard cock. Charlie looks up, and Don's head falls back to the pillow. Unseen, his fingers stretch out, grasping air while sheets rustle and a cap pops free, then Charlie's hand clasps his own while the other disappears.

Cool gel and a sure finger slip underneath him. Don tenses, angles his hips higher, a calf over Charlie's shoulder, and clenches Charlie's hand as the coated finger slides inside him. He pants at the ceiling, bringing their hands to his neck, his chin, then his mouth to kiss Charlie's knuckles just as the finger pushes inside his hole and _twists_. He bucks up, cock flushing, voice crying out, and Charlie's finger spasms within him, crooking right and--

"Yes!"

Electricity in his blood and before his eyes, drumbeat surging in his ears as the one finger becomes two becomes heaven, pushing him open and keeping him hanging right _there_ where there's no thought beyond _Charlie_ and no words but '_more_','_ yes_', and '_fuck_,' and Don thrusts against the fingers, mouths the bones of Charlie's wrist, his other hand clenched in the bed for leverage as he moves.

The fingers push deep and hold, keeping Don spread open and arching off the mattress. They withdraw and the slow fall down is a rush of emptiness before Charlie is back, cock at Don's hole and pushing steadily in, steadily down to where he can thrust inside and bite at Don's mouth at the same time, one hand bruising his hip for balance.

Don moans, cock digging into his stomach and blood roiling beneath his skin. He snaps at Charlie's mouth as it withdraws, shoulders coming off the bed. His teeth catch at _his_ piece of skin and bear down. Above him, inside him, hips a ragged lunge forcing Don's shoulders into the headboard and now there's no thought, no _words_, not even breath to speak them as all the world spirals tight onto Charlie's cock and Charlie's breath and Charlie's kiss and the piece of skin bruising under Don's teeth.

Charlie covers him, spears inside and won't let go, only moves deeper and harder each time. Mutters to God, groans praise in his ear, and Don goes looking for more. Arching into the scratching of his skin, marking him where no one can see, but Don can _feel_, and he wanted it fast, but it's never dirty, and Don can't think, can't talk, but he wants Charlie to--

And Charlie hand detaches from Don's hip to his cock. He strokes and twists, draws a thumb along the vein and thrusts _right_ where he should. Don chokes, back arcing, mouth finally leaving _his_ piece of flesh, and comes, splashing hot liquid between their still heaving bodies.

He falls to the bed, still coming, still moving up into Charlie's thrusts as they grow stronger, more erratic and finally still. Moans at the hot rush inside him as Charlie bites hard into Don's chest, coming but not--never leaving.

Slowly, like water from the tap, Charlie flows up Don's body, groaning as his cock slips free. Don tenses against the coming lassisitude, but Charlie is flush against his body, covering him from fingertip to toe tip, cold nose in his neck, and Don's still not thinking, still not speaking. Charlie is holding him to the mattress, the door's locked, the lights are off, and Don can close his eyes and still feel Charlie inside him.

And he doesn't have to think.

 

The End.


End file.
